Happy Valentine's Day, Sammy!
by steelgray
Summary: Sam didn't expect to be woken by an Archangel at four A.M., but Gabriel most certainly never intended to fall for the Moose in the first place. Fluffy Sabriel fanfic, Valentine's Day. Involves a reluctant Sam and a lewd as ever Gabriel. Established Destiel. Will include the cleaning of Gabriel's wings-and we all know where that leads.
1. Wake Up Call

**Established Destiel; developing Sabriel. Enjoy!**

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February 13th came and passed the Winchester trio; stakeout, burning, salt, all a day's work.

After returning to yet another seedy motel, the two humans tended to their wounds and then collapsed into their respective beds, as was also per usual, except for the fact that Sam now slept in his own, seperate bed; it was something that he had absolutely no qualms with, stretching out his tall frame and falling fast asleep.

What Sam Winchester was not planning on, however, was a certain Trickster (Archangel, rather) dropping in. And he meant literally.

"Gabriel!" The hunter gasped out, voice husky with exhaustion, as he was startled from his deep sleep, the heavy weight of the other's landing on him snapping Sam's bleary eyes open.

Gabriel smirked, holding his customary sucker; cherry, if Sam wasn't wrong. "Hey, Samsquatch."

Sam fell back against the pillows with a huff, picking up the Archangel and setting him to the side of the bed so he could sit up himself. "You have got to stop doing that. What time is it anyway?"

"About four."

"And your reason for stopping by at four in the morning?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, "Someone's grumpy. It's Valentine's Day, Sammy!"

"So?" Sam gave him his standard bitch-face, "It's another commercialized holiday. Excuse me for trying to get a modicum of sleep."

"Careful, spoilsport, someone might think that you're bitter," Gabriel replied.

"I'm not bitter," Sam protested, only to be waved away by an airy hand.

"And besides, you aren't the only one not getting sleep, Sammich." He gestured to the other bed, now empty. "Dean-o and Cassie aren't exactly sleeping either, if you know what I mean," This statement was accompanied by a promiscuous wink, as if Sam didn't already know 'what' that meant.

Shrugging away mental images he most certainly did not want to see, (And it was hard, considering the number of times he'd walked in on-No, no, not going there) Sam reached for the water at his bedside, took a sip, and stood up.

And pretended not to notice Gabe's eyes on him as he walked over to retrieve his laptop from the floor, clad in only his boxers and thin tee shirt.

Bending down and scooping up the device as quickly as he could, the younger man set it down on a small table. Pulling on jeans and his standard plaid shirt, he sighed, knowing that he was getting no more sleep, now that Gabriel was here.

Ignoring the Archangel, Sam continued on his research, even as Gabriel hovered over his shoulder, smelling of candy and complaining that he was bored. Of course, he then offered more entertaining, more lewd options that made Sam turn red in the face and turn away.

Finally surrendering to Gabriel, Sam snapped shut his laptop with a resounding smack after the last whine of the former. "If you're so bored, why don't you go somewhere else?"

Refusing to be swayed by the hurt expression on the Archangel's face, Sam resolutely turned away, "I've got research to do for this hunt, before anyone else, oh, I don't know, dies or something." And opened his laptop back up. "But I forgot that it's only important to me."

Gabriel remained silent, before leaning back over Sam, and closing the laptop, uncharacteristically softly. With a sigh, he said, "Lesser demon, goes after those he deems 'rude', and is currently in Baltimore."

Sam looked up at him, surprised, "What?"

"You heard me, Samsquatch!" The shorter man said irritably, "Now are you going to be some sort of fun or not?"

"Thanks," said Sam, even though the gratitude was grudging, "But why me? If I'm so boring, and it's Valentine's Day, which I really do not care about," He gave Gabriel a look, "Then why are you here and not halfway around the world in some club?"

Gabriel opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "I don't-don't want to be in 'some club'," he admitted, "I'd rather be here with you, in all of your nerdy boringness."

"Gee thanks, Gabe," Sam rolled his eyes, before realizing what he'd said. Gabe, not Gabriel.

Pretending he doesn't see the way Gabriel's eyes light up, Sam continues, surprising even himself with the words that come out next.

"So, where are we going?"

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**Hannibal reference, anyone?**

**So, if you thought that this was cute and adorable and want to know more, please follow and/or favorite this story, and if you would like to suggest where they go (Because right now I have no clue, silly author that I am) please feel free to PM or leave a review with the details in either. If I was doing Destiel, it would be pie, so maybe, a candy store or something? Love you all,**

Brenda

**P.S. Reviews make for more Sabriel fluffiness, Favorites give for more flirty banter and Follows for lewd puns. Nothing? You are a sad, sad excuse for a human being, dear reader, for shame. For. Shame. And now to the weather...**

**(Anyone get the Welcome to Night Vale thing, there? No? Ok.)**


	2. Stuck

**One of you may be getting your wish-shadowdancer33996, this is for you. Thanks to Guest, shadowdancer33996, and delphinus2 for their reviews/prompts. Love you all.**

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"Dublin."

"Ireland?" Sam repeated back in disbelief, "Why Ireland?"

"There's a taffy pulling contest starting in an hour!"

"Taffy?"

Sam had been expecting a movie, lunch maybe, but not Ireland. But he was learning not to expect anything while Gabriel was around, as the once-Trickster was as dramatic as the black-haired character he'd seen on BBC once, known as Sherlock. If Sherlock was a short, annoying, clingy Archangel, that was.

"Are you hard of hearing? Yes, Ireland, yes, taffy. Honestly, Moose."

"Not a moose."

"Whatever, Sammy. Let's go!"

Next thing Sam knew, he was standing in the middle of the Irish countryside, lush green grass and rolling hills aplenty in the small village.

Feeling cobbled stones under his feet, Sam turned to a smirking Gabriel, who looked pleased at Sam's ecstatic expression. "This is great!"

"So are you."

Sam pretended that he didn't hear Gabriel's reply. "Where's the contest?"

"This way," Gabriel said, leading the way north, past the bustling streets of people, waiting for Sam to realize...

"Gabriel," Sam's voice turned wary, there it was, "What year is it?"

"1665," he replied breezily.

The tall man stopped rather abruptly. "We can't mess with time, Gabriel!"

The Archangel pouted, stopping as well. "Sammm," he whined.

Sam crossed his arms, refusing to take another step forward. "No."

Gabriel walked toward the younger Winchester, wrapping his arms around the others' middle and hooking his legs around Sam's, like an overgrown, petulant toddler, "Plleaasee?"

"No. We're already messing up the timeline, Gabriel. They're all looking at us weirdly."

With a snap of his fingers, they were in the dress of old Ireland.

"Gabriel!"

"Please?" the Archangel kept begging, "Just for a little while?"

Maybe because there was something pitiful and pathetic in Gabriel's begging, Sam relented, working the short man away from him, "Fine, fine, just let go!"

"Yay!" Gabriel shot up and was already running away, "The contest's starting, let's go!"

Sam kept up easily, the crowd moving out of his rather imposing presence. Gabriel was having a rougher time of it, but they both eventually reached the site of the competition.

Two large barrels of sticky, sweet, pink taffy were sitting on either side of the competition lines, and adults, men, women and children alike, were waiting patiently to try for having the longest strand of the confection.

Sam and Gabriel were looked at a trifle weirdly, but they were obviously not the only ones from out of town, so the villagers let it slide.

The curator of the competition handed each pair a blob of the candy, wishing them 'good luck' and having them line up, one on the starting line, the other in front of them to pull away.

Gabriel had Sam stand at the starting line, proclaiming himself a 'master taffy-puller' and puffing up with pride.

Despite Sam's misgivings on having the gooey, oozing candy in his hands, when the competition started, it was all he could do not to fall down laughing.

A few of the other pairs had simply dropped their taffy, the candy coating the green grass in a thick layer of pink as the competitors blustered and wished for a second chance.

More got to about a foot-long, their strands breaking, and the pairs eating the remains.

Before long, they were down to about five pairs, mostly burly village men and delicate waifs of young, lithe girls, pulling with care, reaching five, six feet.

Gabriel, however, made a spectacle of himself, weaving in and out of the girls' paths, gently coaxing the confection to obey his whims, with numerous 'steady there,'s, 'hold onn,'s and 'damnit, taffy!'s. Yet, he'd made it to, easily, ten feet.

Then disaster struck. Gabriel froze, his eyes going wide as one of the men runs into him, and they both go down, taffy lines mixing and draping across the two.

Sam immediately drops his side of the lines, and runs toward Gabriel, pink-stained hands checking the other for injury. "Are you alright?"

"My wings," Gabriel murmurs, so low that Sam, who almost has his ear to the Archangel's mouth, can barely hear it.

Ignoring the burly man's blustering, Gabriel quickly snaps them back to the motel room, looking heartbroken when they arrive.

"What's wrong with your wings?" Sam calls from the small bathroom, where he's getting out soap and towels for the Archangel. "Are they hurt?"

"They're bent and full of taffy, what do you think?"

"Can't you just fix them?"

Gabriel sighs heavily in frustration, "They aren't broken, so there's nothing I can do. I can't exactly reach to groom them though."

Sam sticks his head out the door, "Do you need help?"

"Please, Moose," Gabriel says.

Sam sighs, "Alright. Get over here."

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**And that's all folks! I'll try to have the last chapter posted by Valentine's Day, because I'm a sap. Drop me a review or a favorite on your way out? Please?**

**Brenda**


	3. Wings

**This is the last installment, all ready for you all to read! Happy Valentine's Day everyone, and if you have a person to be with, good luck to you, and if you don't, fanfiction will always be there for you.**

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As he was only able to see the outline, the shadow of Gabriel's wings, Sam had to make do with what his hands could tell him. While he didn't like being unable to see the extent of the damage, and, consequently, what exactly was wrong, it was something that obviously had to be done to help Gabriel. Besides, how much damage could taffy do?

"Sit," Sam gestures to the floor, where the candy will do the least damage to the upholestry. The short man obeys, grimacing as he tries not to nudge his painful appendages. The human winces in sympathy.

"This may hurt," The Winchester says apologetically.

"That's what they all say," Gabriel replies weakly.

Sighing, and trying to decide just what will be effective, Sam decides that he needs to try to straighten the Archangel's feathers first, and get the candy out later.

Hesitating to put his hands to the wings, Sam strokes the nearest feather with the pad of his thumb, tentatively. Gabriel groans.

The taller man immediately removes his hand, as if burnt by it. "Alright?"

"Peachy," he replies, sounding pained.

Sam shrugs, knowing that Gabriel's probably in more pain than he lets on, but continues anyway.

Even full of sticky confection, Gabriel's wings are glorious; ethereal. The silky fluff of the feathers is softer than the finest silk, stronger than horsehair, thinner than rice paper. Sam carefully straightens each one, working from top to bottom, drawing a mix of almost illicit, strangled moans, groans, and gasps from the former.

Trying to distract Gabriel, he asked, "What color are they?"

"What color are what?" Gabriel grunted at him.

"Your wings."

"Gold."

Sam adds this to his mental image of Gabriel's wings, imagines them as bright as real gold, as bright as a diamond, pure in their vivid color.

"I think I can work out the taffy with a brush and some soap," Sam says, surprised when Gabriel shivers at his words, "Cold?"

"Hot," Gabriel replies, "Go ahead."

Sam grabs a comb, a bottle of shampoo, and a bucket of water, and begins the long process of wetting, soaping and removing traces of excess taffy from Gabriel's wings. They sit in silence for a long while, Gabriel shivering every time the wet brush squeezes more suds from his wet wings.

"We are never doing this again."

"You said that like there was a chance in the first place," Gabriel replies hopefully.

"Never."

"We can still do other stuff?" Gabriel weedles as Sam tugs at the feathers on his back, drawing another gasp.

Sam ignores him, assuming that its pain he's hearing, and replies, " No candy."

Gabriel doesn't get the chance to object to this abject horror of wording, as Sam sighs in relief. "Almost done," the latter says, "Just let me make sure I didn't miss anything."

Sam runs his hands over the roots of Gabriel's wings, trailing them upwards from root to tip, feeling the smooth, wet feathers, silky soft and free of any stickiness. Sam smiles at the sensation and the relief at being done with the cleaning, and that when, with no warning whatsoever, Gabriel turns around and kisses him.

Sam gasps into Gabriel's mouth, the sound swallowed greedily with Gabriel's lips, making him whimper, his body's desperate plea to be heard as Gabriel forcefully bites Sam's lip, moving to straddle the large man, tongue pushing for entrance as he pushes him down, never breaking the kiss.

When Gabriel finally releases him, lips bruised, Sam gasps for air, leaning back to the floor and waiting for his heart rate to slow back down. "What the hell was that!?"

Gabriel preens, looking satisfied like a Cheshire cat. "That's usually referred to as a kiss, young padawan."

"No," Sam says, brain running on overdrive. "No. First, don't pull the Star Wars references. Just don't. Not here, not now. Second, I repeat, what the hell was that?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes from his position atop Sam, "Don't be such a drama queen, Sammy. Besides, that was child's play compared to the torture I endured while you cleaned my wings."

"What do you...Oh." Sam finally realized. Those hadn't been sounds of pain he was hearing, but sounds of...Right.

"So?"

"I...don't know."

Gabriel finally got frustrated, "What do you mean, you don't know? Isn't it painfully clear?"

"What is supposed to be clear about this? I'm a hunter, you're a freaking Archangel, and we live out of an antique car. What's clear cut about this?"

"I didn't say clear cut, I asked if it was clear," Gabriel says, calming as if to offset Sam's own miniature panic attack. "Nothing is clear cut."

"Gabriel..."

The Archangel leans forward, observes those wide, bright eyes closing, before leaning into a delicate kiss, soft like sugar, tasting of candy, less violent than before, but more passionate.

"Gabriel..." Sam whispered, leaning his forehead against the other's, "Gabriel, it's clear."

"Isn't it?" Gabriel whispers back, leaning in for another kiss.

The response he recieves is more than a good answer.

The sound of the doorknob turning wakes Sam, who, tired from earlier, has fallen asleep, the Archangel being spooned by the snoring Winchester, content to lay there as Sam cuddled against the soft feathers of his back.

The man is up in an instant, pulling out his gun from the bedside table, pointing it to the door as Gabriel stretches like a cat, smirking at his love.

"Whoa," Dean pulls back immediately as he opens the door, his own gun in hand, safety off.

Upon seeing Dean and Castiel, Sam relaxes instantly, flicking the safety back on his own weapon, setting it back down.

"What's he doing here?" Dean asks harshly, using his gun as a pointer towards Gabriel.

"Hey, Dean-o, Cassie," Gabriel grins, "Miss me?"

Dean finally notices that both of them are in pajamas, the bedsheets of Sam's bed mussed, slept in. Realization dawns, and he opens his mouth, no sound coming out, stopping to gape at the pair like a fish. "You...you and him..."

Sam runs a hand through his hair, blushing and looking down at his feet, "Yeah."

Castiel smiles at the pair of them, and reaches to work at the muscles in Dean's shoulder, "Dean, it is not a concern. I trust Gabriel."

"Not a...not a concern?" Dean repeats, looking shocked to hear Castiel utter such words.

"Not at all."

Looking between the three of them, Dean finally settles on striding over to the Archangel. Invading the golden-haired man's space, and still holding the gun, Dean says, "If you hurt him, you won't live to see the morning, angel or not."

And with that, Dean grabs Castiel's arm, and whisks the two of them out of the room, saying, "Pie. We need more pie, Cas."

"You already had an entire pie this morning!"

"I'm in traumatic shock! I need more pie."

"Fine, Dean."

And so progressed the story of a Valentine's Day, surprisingly, gone right.

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**Remember to drop me a review on the way out, I'm alone this Valentine's Day *Sniffs* so your reviews on how I did writing, for instance, my first ever slightly in depth kissing scene, would be great (It's so hard for me to write, as I've..erm..never been kissed. Yeah.) I love you all. Thanks for your support, and I hoped that you enjoyed the last installment of this fic.**

**Brenda**


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